


Fool in the Rain

by purewanderlust



Series: Where Angels Fear to Tread [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:57:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3453203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purewanderlust/pseuds/purewanderlust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has to make a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fool in the Rain

When Dean came to, the first thing he realized was that the pain in his thigh was gone. It was a considerable improvement over the all-encompassing anguish he'd been in after that damn banshee caught him in her claws. It had been the first time he'd seen one manifest in broad daylight.

The banshee had taken a chunk out of his leg... including a not-insignificant gash through his femoral artery. Which begged the question...how was he possibly alive? He remembered blood everywhere, soaking through the plaid overshirt he'd attempted to make a tourniquet from. He remembered the dizziness, the realization that he wasn't gonna make it this time. He'd been so damn calm, fishing out his phone, miraculously undamaged, and dialing with blood-slippery fingers.

If he was gonna die, he wanted the last thing he heard to be his brother's voice.

But here he was, apparently not dead, and Dean figured it was high time he opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw upon doing so was a water stained motel room ceiling. One of the more familiar sights in his life, but it didn't make any sense. Dad had ditched him in New Orleans for another case that he wouldn't talk about. Dean hadn't seen him in over a week, and there was no way he'd gotten here on his own.

He sat up with a groan. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

There was the pounding of footsteps and then Sammy's face appeared in the doorway, eyes wide and delighted.

"Dean, you're awake!' He cried, leaping onto the bed. " Are you feeling better?"

Dean flinched away from his hands because the Sam in front of him was not the college boy from his earlier phone call. This Sam was twelve years old and bright-eyed in a way Dean's brother hadn't been in a long time.

"What the hell is this?" He demanded.

Sam beamed at him. "I'm so glad your fever has gone down," he said as if he hadn't heard Dean's question at all. "I was really scared for a while. I almost called Dad."

"You shouldn't bother him for me," answered Dean, a memory flickering to life in the back of his mind.

Sam's lips pursed like he was sucking on a lemon. Even at twelve, he had the bitchface down pat. The memory was pitch-perfect.

Because that's what this was, wasn't it? A memory of the time Dean had come down with chickenpox at sixteen. He'd never had them as a kid, and picked them up from Sammy when he brought them home from school. It had been much worse for Dean than Sam, being older, and his little brother had been the only one there to care for him; Dad had been gone on a hunt with Bobby.

"What is this place?" Dean wondered out loud, watching the preteen Sam continue to carry on his side of a decade-old conversion.

"This is heaven, Dean."

Dean spun around so fast he fell off the bed. Sam didn't seem to notice, still talking to the empty air where he'd been sitting moments earlier.

Standing across the room was a dark-haired man who looked a few years older than Dean. He was wearing a trenchcoat and a tie, and staring at him with unsettlingly blue eyes.

"Who the fuck are you?" demanded Dean, "Where am I, what's going on?"

The man's expression didn't change. He didn't seem to have quite grasped the concept of body language, his arms stiff at his sides. "My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord. This is heaven."

Dean scoffed. "Angels aren't real. No offense, dude, but you look more like a soccer-dad." His eyes flicked around the room, casing for some kind of weapon in case he had to fight his way out of here. "And you expect me to believe a: that I got into heaven and b: that the pinnacle of my afterlife is a shitty motel room?"

Castiel's eyebrows pulled together in what Dean thought might be perplexion. "You remember the banshee? Dean, I'm sorry, you died."

Behind him, twelve year-old Sam giggled at a quip that no one had said. Dean swallowed convulsively. He wanted to keep arguing, but there was a sinking feeling in his chest as he looked at the stranger's too-earnest face. If this was joke, it wasn't funny.

"I..." His voice failed him. "I need to go."

"Dean, wait--"

Dean didn't stick around to hear any more. Lurching to his feet, he staggered past the echo of Sam and out the door.

The sunlight blinded him. Dean took a couple uncertain steps, blinking against the light.

"Dean, c'mon!"

Another Sam stood before him, sixteen years old, beautiful and bronzed in a pair of threadbare swim trunks. Dean’s heart stuttered in his chest and he felt a smile spreading across his face. He remembered this day, too.

"Don't worry, Sammy, we got plenty of time."

Sam flashed him a brilliant smile and dashed down the dock, flinging himself into the water with a little whoop. Dean took a few steps towards the edge of the dock, feeling unsteady. Sam waved at him from the water and he raised his hand half-heartedly, his heart caught somewhere in the vicinity of his throat.

Castiel reappeared at his elbow. Dean was too stunned to even be startled.

"Is this what heaven is?" He asked, "Just a replay of your greatest hits?"

The angel nodded. An _angel_. Dean bit his lip, eyes on Sam's shaggy head bobbing in the water. "That's not so bad," he said, mostly to himself.

In fact it was better than not bad; it was probably the best case scenario. Dean had never had any illusions about living a long life, and now that Sam and Dad didn't need him anymore, it honestly seemed preferable. He still wasn't sure how he'd wound up in heaven, but he'd never been the type to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"You cannot stay here, Dean." The angel-slash-accountant said in his deep, grave voice. Dean cut him a sharp look.

"Why the hell not? What else and I supposed to do with eternity?"

Castiel looked uncomfortable. "You need to return to earth."

"What, Romero-style?" Dean quipped. "Uh uh, I don't think so. I'm not about to become something I've hunted."

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly another angel appeared at his side. This one had familiar features, a strong jaw and dark eyes. He was only maybe a quarter of an inch taller than Castiel, but he seemed to tower over him. There was nothing mild-mannered about this guy, and Dean took an automatic step back before he even realized he was doing it.

"What the fuck."

Castiel's blue eyes widened almost comically. "Michael! I didn't know you--"

The second angel--Michael, apparently--lifted a hand and Castiel fell silent immediately.

"Leave us, Castiel."

Dean caught a brief glance at the trenchcoat-wearing angel's face. He wore the same disappointed expression Sam had used to wear when they were teenagers, and Dean had blown him off for other company. Before he could comment, Castiel vanished, leaving Dean alone with the new angel, and the Sam-echo, laughing out in the water.

“Michael?” Dean asked, squaring his shoulders. “Like the dude who kicked Satan out of heaven?”

“ _Lucifer_ ,” Michael said, his lips thinning, “Had directly disobeyed our father’s orders. I’m sure you of all people should understand that. But that is not what I am here to speak to you about.”  

Dean crossed his arms and tried to look unconcerned. “So what exactly _are_ you here to speak to me about?”

“Castiel says you don’t wish to return to Earth.” Dean shrugged and Michael’s brows drew together. “I was under the impression that most humans would do anything to get a second chance at life.”

“Yeah, well, most humans have a life worth returning to,” retorted Dean.

“All human life is sacred, Dean Winchester, you should not be so flippant about it.”

Dean clenched his jaw. “I ain’t being _flippant_ , alright? I don’t have anything to live for! Sam ditched me years ago, and he’s nice and safe in his normal apple-pie college life. Apparently Dad’s sick of me, because now he’s disappeared too! Excuse me for not appreciating the _sanctity_ of endless hours on the road, or all alone in a shitty $40 a night motel! Fuck you and your ‘all human life is sacred’ bullshit.”

Michael didn’t seem moved by Dean’s outburst. “I understand that your life has not been the easiest, Dean. Always your father’s soldier, the only one he could rely on. You and I are not so different in that. But you’ve done so much good in the world, and you are still needed.”

Dean snorted, turning back to watch as the Sam in the lake sent an arc of water toward where Dean would be if he were playing out the memory. His throat hurt and there was pressure behind his eyes, but like hell was he going to cry in front of this asshole.

“Moreover, I’m afraid that your brother is not as safe as you would wish.” the angel added delicately.

The memory around him seemed to come to a halt for a moment. The splashes from the lake silenced, the birds frozen in midair, and Dean turned to Michael.

“What do you mean Sammy isn’t safe? He got out!” Even as he spoke, Dean knew it was a stupid thing to say. He’d worried that this day would come ever since Sam had walked out the door. In twenty years, he had never met one hunter to successfully get out.

“There is a demon, Dean, a horrible creature that claims human children for himself. Ever since your brother was an infant, the demon has sought him out. His name is Azazel and he is very powerful.”

There was a cold pit in the bottom of Dean’s stomach. “The yellow-eyed demon.”

Michael nodded, his expression somber. “He will stop at nothing to take Samuel. Even now, he has designs of how to do so. With you out of the way, it should be simple.”

“What does he want with my brother?” Dean demanded.

The angel hesitated. “I...I am not certain. But I can assure you that his intentions are evil.”

The sixteen year-old memory of Sam hauled himself back up on the dock before Dean could say anything else. He flopped down on his back, arms crossed under his head, his feet still dangling in the water.

“This is the best day,” he said with a smile, fox-slanted eyes turned to the empty space to his left. “Thanks, Dean.”

Dean swallowed past the lump and his throat and looked from Sam to Michael. “Fine,” he said hoarsely. “Send me back.”

“This is the right thing to do, Dean,” Michael said. “I only have one request.”

Dean eyed him, suspicious. “Oh, yeah?”

The angel gave him a grave smile. “I realize that this is asking too much of you, but no one else could possibly assist me with this.”

“Yeah, yeah, enough with the flattery. What do you want?”

“Just the promise of a favor,” Michael replied. “Unfortunately, you won’t remember much of your experience here in heaven once you are returned to life--one of the side effects of resurrection--but you will have impressions. I am going to come to you later and ask you a favor and I need you to say yes.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You want me to say yes to a favor, no questions asked? That’s not exactly something that’s encouraged where I come from, dude.”

Michael shook his head. “I require nothing from you beyond your agreement to help. You have my word.”

“I--” Dean hesitated. If he refused, there was a risk that Michael wouldn’t send him back. He’d been ready to accept death before, but now that he knew Sam was in danger, it wasn’t an option. After all, if Michael did come to him later, he could still say no, the worst that could happen was that the angel would kill him.

Dying once already had kind of lowered the stakes on that one.

“Fine,” he said tersely, “A favor. Now send me back to my brother.”

Michael nodded, pleased, and for a moment Dean was reminded inexplicably of his father. “You will not regret this Dean Winchester.”

He touched two fingers to Dean’s temple and everything went dark.


End file.
